


man of fortune

by zach_stone



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Uncharted Fusion, Getting Back Together, Heist, M/M, Treasure Hunter Richie, Treasure Hunting, do not need to be familiar with uncharted to read the fic, journalist eddie, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24220357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: They’ve both got guns concealed under their clothes, but Richie’s confident they won’t need to use them. If anyone here is familiar with their usual line of work, Richie’s pretty damn sure they won’t be recognized.“Rich?” says a very familiar voice from behind them.Richie turns slowly, and his jaw drops a little. “Eds?” he says stupidly.--Or, Richie and Bev, seasoned treasure hunters, crash a black market auction, and Richie runs into an old flame. Inspired by the Uncharted series.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 49
Kudos: 266





	man of fortune

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to peak self indulgence, aka me crossing over my favorite terrible clown movie with my favorite ridiculous adventure games. if you don't know anything about the uncharted series, that's ok! all you really need to know is that richie in this universe is a treasure hunter/thief with something of a reputation. i think it's all pretty self explanatory. 
> 
> the setting for this story is based off of a scene in the 4th uncharted game, but you really don't need to know anything about the context. it's a black market auction, they're stealing something to help them find pirate treasure. that's it! 
> 
> WARNINGS for genre-typical violence in the form of both fistfights and gunfights, and some non-explicit discussion of injuries. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!!!

The ballroom of the Rossi Estate buzzes with the high-class criminals, the kind of morally corrupt that only a mass amount of wealth can cultivate. It turns a black market auction into a black tie affair, and the grand, sweeping halls of the estate host a sea of tuxedos and slinky dresses that cost more than most people make in a year. Red-vested waiters slip nearly unnoticed throughout the crowd, carrying trays of antipasto and flutes of champagne. 

Leaning on the balcony that overlooks the auction floor below, Richie nudges an elbow into the arm of his companion. “Look at ’em. Like sharks out for blood.”

Beverly’s mouth curves into a wry smile. “And tonight we’re crooks just like them.”

“Nah, it’s not the same,” Richie insists. “These fucks have enough money to eliminate global poverty, and instead they’re here, arguing over expensive garbage.  _ We,  _ Ms. Marsh, are a couple of Robin Hoods, that’s what’s happening here.”

“Except the ‘poor’ we’re stealing for is… us,” Bev says.

“Four hundred million is pocket change to these people,” he says. “That’s all I’m sayin’.” 

“Oh honey, you know I agree with you, but if anyone catches you going off on one of your anticapitalist rants then we’re going to get thrown out, no matter how much you look the part.” 

“And I  _ do  _ look the part,” Richie says, pretending to preen a little. Bev snickers. It’s true, though, that they’ve both managed to blend in pretty much seamlessly with this crowd. Richie’s midnight blue tux isn’t custom-tailored to his measurements or anything, but it looks expensive enough, and with his hair slicked back and his glasses swapped out for contacts, he looks nearly nothing like the scrappy treasure hunter he really is. Bev, of course, looks like a dream with her flowy red silk blouse and high-waisted slacks. They’ve both got guns concealed under their clothes, but Richie’s confident they won’t need to use them. If anyone here is familiar with their usual line of work, Richie’s pretty damn sure they won’t be recognized.

“Rich?” says a very familiar voice from behind them.

Richie turns slowly, and his jaw drops a little. “Eds?” he says stupidly, staring at the man standing before him. 

“I  _ knew  _ it,” Eddie says, waving a finger at him like he’s giving him a lecture. “I fucking knew it, I  _ knew  _ you’d be here!” He pauses, his gaze flitting over to Bev, and the blazing look on his face softens slightly. “Hi, Beverly.”

“Hey, Eddie,” she says, amused. 

Richie is still gaping at Eddie, standing there in a dark grey suit that’s just as off the rack as Richie’s but still makes him look sinfully good. His hair is neatly parted, the very picture of polite society. Not exactly the crowd they’re working with, but Eddie’s handsome enough to avoid anyone questioning his presence. 

Well, anyone besides Richie, that is. “What the fuck —  _ how  _ the fuck are you here?” he demands, barely managing to keep his voice low. 

Eddie sniffs. “You’re not the only one with connections,” he says cryptically.

Richie’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, hang on,  _ please  _ fill me in on what connections a  _ journalist  _ has to get into a  _ black market auction,  _ Eduardo. I’m dying to know.” 

“Fuck you, dude,” Eddie snaps, and Richie can’t help but smile. There’s the Kaspbrak fire he knows and loves. “Where’s your other partner in crime?”

“Outside playing getaway driver,” Bev says. “And how’s  _ your _ cute coworker?”

“Kay’s fine. Still very available, if that’s why you’re asking.”

“That _is_ why I’m asking. Good to know,” Bev says, grinning. “So, what are you doing here, Eddie?” She leans pointedly on the balcony railing again, and Richie and Eddie follow suit, the three of them ducking their heads together to keep their conversation private. 

“Uh, research for a story,” Eddie says. He fiddles with the end of his tie, and then sighs. “No, what am I saying, that’s obviously bullshit. I figured you might be here.” It sounds like a general _you,_ but he’s looking at Richie when he says it. “I wanted to see you.”

Richie’s stomach flips over. “Oh,” he says. He casts his gaze around for a waiter, suddenly desperate for some champagne. 

Before he or Eddie can say anything else, Bev smacks at Richie’s arm to get his attention, and he turns to look down at the auction floor. They’re bringing out the next round of items up for bid, and when Richie sees one of them, his heart sinks like a stone. The engraved Saint Dismas cross — the artifact he and Bev were supposed to be lifting from its place in storage — is being set up on the little display table along with the other items about to sell.

“What the fuck,” Richie says. “They weren’t supposed to bring that out for at least an hour.”

“Someone changed the lot order,” Bev murmurs back.

“What are you guys trying to steal this time, exactly?” Eddie asks, squinting down at the table. Richie subtly points at the cross, and Eddie frowns. “Who the hell’s paying you to steal that thing?”

“It’s supposed to be the key to finding Henry Avery’s treasure,” Richie says. “And no one’s paying us, we’re not on a job this time. We’re finding it for ourselves.”

“Pirate treasure, huh? That’s new,” Eddie says mildly. He looks down at the cross again. Richie takes advantage of his momentary distraction to really get a good look at him. He is the same as Richie remembers, the same perpetually worried brow and those knockout brown eyes that Richie used to lose himself in. Eddie’s hands, ever in motion just like the rest of him, toy with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Once, Richie would’ve reached out to still his hands, to lace their fingers together and comfort his restless mind with a reassuring pressure. Now, all he can do is look.

“So, what’s your new plan, Tozier?” Eddie asks, catching his eye.

Vaguely flustered, Richie looks away. “Not sure yet. I’m freeballing it.”

Eddie lets out a spluttering, incredulous laugh. “That is  _ not  _ what that means!” he says. He’s cracking up enough that he draws the attention of a couple people walking by, who shoot them judgemental looks. 

Grinning, Richie shushes him. “It’s a metaphor!” he says, while Eddie continues to lose his shit. “The — stop, listen — the underwear represents the act of having a plan. It makes sense.” 

“Oh my fucking god,” Eddie says, finally calming down. He shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. You haven’t changed at all.” There’s such an unmistakable fondness in his voice, it makes Richie’s heart clench painfully. Fuck, he’s missed this. He’s missed  _ Eddie.  _

Bev clears her throat. “Gentlemen,” she says, and they both turn to look at her. “We can still do this. We were going to steal it anyway, might as well give it a go.”

“Yeah, we’ve just got a couple hundred witnesses now,” Richie points out.

“So it’ll be a little trickier. Since when do we let that stop us?” Bev grins. “You know what we need?” She wiggles her fingers. “Lights out.”

“Place like this is bound to have a backup generator if you kill the power,” Eddie points out. “You’ll have a few seconds, tops.”

“Hmm,” Bev says. “We’d have to be right next to the cross before we take it, no way that’s going to go unnoticed.”

The three of them stew over this for another moment, and a waiter finally passes by so Richie can swipe a glass of champagne. He tosses it back in one swallow, and catches Eddie following the motion with wide, thoughtful eyes. Wiping his hand across the back of his mouth, Richie says nervously, “What?”

“A waiter wouldn’t get noticed,” Eddie says. He gestures to the floor below, where dozens of waiters weave through the crowd, essentially invisible. “We’ve just got to find a way to steal one of their uniforms, and —”

“We? You want in on this now too, Eddie?” Bev asks. “I thought you came here to talk.”

Eddie shrugs. “I have a feeling I’m not going to get a chance to talk until after you two steal that thing, so. Might as fucking well.”

Richie beams at him and slings an arm around his shoulders, unable to help himself. “Eds, you’re a genius. You’re my hero. Marry me.”

It’s an old joke between them. Richie always made it a joke, to hide the way he’d grown to actually mean it. The first time he said it, three years ago, Eddie was nothing more to him than a mouthy journalist who got tangled up in Richie’s business — literally, as they were both tangled up in a net hanging from the ceiling of an old ruin. They’d been pressed together, chest to chest, and Richie had said it in a voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Now, Eddie recites his line, blushing and shoving at Richie’s arm, the same as always. “Shut up.”

“But we’re already all dressed up! It’s  _ romantic, _ Eds.”

“You’ve got a funny idea of romantic,” Eddie mutters. He manages to get out from under Richie’s arm. “Cut it out, Rich, I don’t — I don’t wanna joke about that shit.”

Something in his tone sobers Richie slightly. He opens his mouth to change the subject, or maybe apologize, but he can’t think of a single thing to say.

Bev ends up breaking the tension. “Come on,” she says. “We’ve got a waiter to find.” 

The process of tracking down a uniform is a bit of an ordeal since they have to avoid being noticed by the other guests, but it doesn’t take long, which is lucky because they’re rapidly running out of time. They manage to catch a waiter outside on a smoke break who looks close enough to Eddie’s size, knock the guy unconscious, and steal his clothes. Then Eddie hides behind a hedge while Richie and Bev keep lookout so he can change.

Bev leans close to Richie so she can speak to him without Eddie overhearing. “You doing okay?” she murmurs.

“I’m fine,” Richie says automatically.

“How long has it been since you last saw him? A year?”

Richie sighs. “Eighteen months,” he says. “I haven’t talked to him at all since then. I didn’t think he was still… keeping tabs on me.”

Bev hums sympathetically. “Of course he is, Rich,” she says. “You know he —”

“How do I look?” Eddie interrupts from behind them, and Bev breaks off mid-sentence as the two of them turn around. Eddie adjusts the red vest of the uniform and then spreads his arms.

_ “Very  _ cute,” Bev says, saving Richie from having to react. “Rich, do you have the earpieces?” 

He digs the two tiny communication devices out of his pocket and passes one to Bev. “Sorry Eds, we only brought two,” he says as he turns his on and sticks it in his ear. “But you’ll be with me the whole time anyway.” 

Stan’s voice comes in through the earpiece.  _ “Did I hear you say Eddie is there?”  _

“Sure did. We’ve roped him into our scheme,” Bev says.

Stan chuckles.  _ “Well, can’t say I’m surprised. He always did have a habit of showing up wherever Richie went. Tell him hi.” _

“Stan says hi,” Richie tells Eddie dutifully.

“Hi, Stan,” Eddie says.

_ “So what’s the plan?”  _ Stan asks.

“They switched the lot order,” Bev says. “So things are a little more complicated than we hoped.”

_ “Typical,”  _ Stan says.

“Bev’s gonna go cut the power while Eds and I lift the cross from the auction table, and then we’ll scoot on out of here in the ensuing panic. No one’s gonna notice a thing,” Richie says.

_ “Don’t get cocky,” _ Stan says.  _ “We don’t need a repeat of the Scotland job.” _

“Hey! I thought we agreed to never talk about the Scotland job!” Richie protests.

“What the fuck’s the Scotland job?” Eddie asks.

“I’ll tell you later,” Bev says conspiratorially.

“You will  _ not,”  _ Richie says.

Stan is laughing again.  _ “Oh man. Tell Eddie I missed having him around.” _

“I won’t,” Richie says. “Look, clock’s ticking, people, let’s get going.”

“I’m heading for the generator,” Bev says. She tosses off a mock salute. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Richie says. 

They part ways, Richie and Eddie heading back to the ballroom. Richie side-eyes Eddie, who keeps fidgeting with his vest. He catches Richie looking and frowns at him. “What?”

“You sure you want to do this?” Richie asks. “We can switch outfits, Eds, you don’t have to get involved.”

“Little late for that,” Eddie mutters. “I got it, man, I can handle it. You know I can. I’m quick.”

“Yeah, and those nimble hands…” Richie says, winking. Eddie elbows him hard in the side, and Richie chuckles, stumbling away before moving right back to Eddie’s side, like a magnet.

They can’t exactly talk once they get back in the ballroom — Eddie weaves expertly through the crowd, holding a tray above his head with ease. Richie remembers Eddie telling him about his college job as a waiter at one of those restaurants where you have to wear roller skates. The conversation had happened, as many of their conversations had, in the wee hours of the morning, in a hotel room before Richie had to run off to raid a tomb or swipe an ancient artifact. Richie can picture it, the scene unfolding for him like a movie in his mind’s eye: Eddie, shirtless, the hotel sheets slung low over his hips, propping himself up on an elbow as he spoke. Richie’s wandering hands trailing over Eddie’s bare ribs, making him huff with laughter even as he continued his rant. The soft way the city lights bled through the curtains, the way Eddie’s eyes shone in the near-dark. 

Richie sighs. When Eddie broke things off, Richie had told himself it was for the best. He’d gone this long without any real romantic attachments — sure, he had his share of casual flings and one night stands, but Eddie was the first time he’d let himself fall, and fall hard. It always felt too good to be true, and in the end, turns out it was. Eddie deserves better, Richie thinks, than what he’d been able to give him: brief and often sporadic meetups, their paths crossing occasionally while Eddie was out on foreign correspondence and Richie was in the same place for far shadier business. Rarely, Eddie would end up roped into whatever hijinks Richie and his friends had gotten themselves into, but more often than not Richie would kiss Eddie goodbye at the door of a hotel room and vanish, leaving Eddie behind. It’s no big shocker he didn’t want to put up with that shit anymore. 

He’s startled out of his morose thoughts when, as he idly scans the crowd of people, his eyes land on another person he unfortunately recognizes.

“Hey, guys?” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “I think we might have a problem.”

Stan sighs over the earpiece. _“What is it now?”_  
“Bowers is here,” Richie says. 

Henry Bowers — weapons dealer, grade A asshole, and known hater of Richie Tozier’s guts. He looks incredibly out of place here and stands out like a sore thumb. If he’s at the auction, there’s no doubt more of his posse is lurking around, too. Richie turns his back slightly and hunches his shoulders, trying to make himself less conspicuous. 

_ “What the hell is Bowers doing here?” _ Bev asks. There’s a quiet screech of metal from her end, and then a huff as she hoists herself up over something.  _ “I’m in the generator room, let me know when you’re ready for me to kill the lights.”  _

_ “Rich, don’t worry about Bowers,” _ Stan says.  _ “Just keep out of his way and we’ll be fine.” _

“No,” Richie says, feeling a little frantic. He catches Eddie’s eye and starts making a series of facial expressions that he hopes scream  _ we have a problem, get over here right now,  _ but Eddie has already taken up position close to the auction table and gives Richie a mildly confused look in return. Shit. “Listen, this is bad, okay, it’s not — it’s not a  _ coincidence  _ that he’s here. He’s after the cross, too. And he knows I’m here.”

_ “What,”  _ Stan says flatly.

_ “Why would he give a shit about the cross? Is he moonlighting as an antiques collector now?”  _ Bev asks, and then laughs. 

Richie does not laugh. “You remember when I had a run-in with his crew a couple months back?” he mumbles. “I had my notebook on me, the one with all the info about Avery and the Saint Dismas cross and — and fucking all of it.”

_ “You said he didn’t take anything from you,”  _ Bev says.

“Well I got it all  _ back,”  _ Richie retorts.

Stan groans.  _ “Richie, this is the sort of shit you need to tell us  _ before _ a heist, for fuck’s sake.”  _

“I thought maybe he wouldn’t show up!” Richie hisses. Someone walks past him and squints at him mistrustfully, which is understandable considering it looks like he’s having a heated argument with himself. Eddie is starting to look more concerned, brows furrowing as he watches Richie whispering. 

_ “We’re out of time,” _ Bev says.  _ “It’s going to be fine. We’ll just have to be extra quick. Okay? Get ready for lights out.” _

Sighing, Richie mutters, “Copy that, Marsh.” He catches Eddie’s eye and gives him a subtle thumbs up. Eddie nods ever so slightly, looking sidelong at the cross where it sits on the little display stand. The bidding is about to start.

_ “Three…”  _ Bev says.  _ “Two…” _

As she says “one,” Richie glances over his shoulder — and he locks eyes with Henry Bowers. Henry hisses,  _ “Tozier,”  _ and then the room goes dark. 

Richie moves quickly and quietly, weaving back through the crowd and around the corner as fast as he can until he reaches the door leading out of the ballroom and into the hall, where he waits for Eddie to join him. He hears footsteps close behind him, and it’s only a moment before the hum of the emergency generator kicks in. The lights flicker back to life. Richie hears the gasps and murmurs of alarm and confusion as people start to realize that the cross is missing. 

A moment later, Eddie comes around the corner, power-walking fast as he hastily unbuttons his red vest. His face floods with relief when he spots Richie. 

“You got it?” Richie asks in a low voice, falling into step beside Eddie as they make their way down the currently deserted hallway. Eddie drops the vest on the floor and pulls the cross out of his back pocket. Richie beams at him. “Eddie, baby, marry me.” He winces as it slips out. “Uh, I mean. Sorry, I didn’t —”

This time, Eddie just rolls his eyes, pressing the artifact into Richie’s hand. “Easy there, cowboy, don’t hurt yourself.” 

Richie sticks the cross into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Soooo,” he says, unable to keep quiet for more than a couple seconds. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Is now really the time?”

“I don’t see why not! It’s just you and…” Richie trails off awkwardly, as they round the corner to see one of the estate’s security guards prowling the hallway, handgun drawn. He hasn’t spotted the two of them yet, but he will in a moment. 

With a put-upon sigh, Richie rushes the guy and swiftly punches him in the face hard enough that he drops like a stone to the floor, unconscious.

“Jesus,” Eddie says, wincing. 

Richie plucks the guard’s gun up from the floor and offers it to Eddie. “You still remember how to use one of these?” he asks.

“Sure,” Eddie says, taking it gingerly. “Just like a camera, right?”

Richie smiles. “Point and shoot,” he agrees.

He’s the one who taught Eddie how to use a gun, their very first run-in with each other. Richie’s not a huge fan of using guns — he prefers to talk his way out of sticky situations unless he has no other option — but he knew Eddie would need to know how to defend himself if it came down to it. Eddie was still just getting his journalism career off the ground, back then, and he was all endless questions with his clunky camera slung over his shoulder. He’d balked when Richie first put the gun in his hand, but now he holds it like he knows what he’s doing, confident if a bit wary. 

Richie pulls his own gun from the holster hidden beneath his jacket, then beckons Eddie forward. “How we doin’, Bev?” he asks aloud to the earpiece.

_ “Making my way back out to meet you,” _ she says.  _ “Stan? What’s it look like outside?” _

_ “Getting a little chaotic,”  _ Stan says. _ “They’ve locked down the ballroom, security’s crawling all over the place. I’m parked by the fountain, if you can get out through the west doors you should be okay.” _

_ “Keep the motor running,”  _ Bev says.

_ “Try not to get shot,” _ Stan replies.

“No promises,” Richie mutters. To Eddie, he says, “We’re headed to the west entrance. Hopefully we won’t run into any more problems.”

_ “More  _ problems?” Eddie repeats.

“Uhhh,” Richie says. “Let’s just say there’s someone here who  _ also  _ wants this cross, and he is  _ not _ a big fan of me.”

“Of course,” Eddie sighs. “I don’t know why I expect anything different with you.”

“Occupational hazard,” Richie sing-songs. He’s starting to think maybe they’ll get lucky and avoid any further run-ins with security — or worse, Bowers — when they push open a side door and come face-to-face with two of Bowers’ guys. “Aw, crap.”

Things immediately descend into chaos. Richie grabs the man closest to him by the shoulders and knees him hard in the crotch, bringing his knee up to smash the man’s face when he doubles over in pain. He turns around to see Eddie has fully climbed onto the other guy’s back and is basically throttling him as he staggers around the room. The guy backs up into a wall and slams Eddie against it, and Eddie groans and loosens his grip enough that the man can break free.

“Hey, fuckface!” Richie shouts, and then he punches the man in the face.

_ “What the fuck is going on in there?” _ Stan says.

“We’ve got it under control,” Richie pants, watching the man slump to the floor. “Eddie, are you okay?”

“Ugh,” Eddie says, rubbing the back of his head and staggering to his feet. “That’s gonna fucking bruise. Fuck. Yeah, I’m pretty good.”

_ “Rich, I don’t mean to rush you, but things are getting very out of control out here. Hurry the fuck up!”  _ Stan says.  _ “And for crying out loud, use your gun! We don’t have time for your whole rock ‘em sock ‘em robots routine!” _

“That’s very cute, Stan, you should write that one down,” Richie says, rolling his eyes. He can already hear more people heading their way, drawn to the sound of the fight. It turns out to be more of Bowers’ goons, plus the estate’s hired security, and before they know it, it’s a fully fledged shootout as they sprint through the building. Richie’d like to believe he’s capable of getting a job done without being shot at, but tonight is clearly not that night. 

He’s busy trying to shoulder open a locked door when Eddie yelps, “Watch out!” and practically body-slams him sideways. Richie hears the gunshot, hears the impact of the bullet into the door, and stumbles to get his balance back so he can take out the guy shooting at them.

“Seems like I’m always saving your ass,” Eddie says, winded.

“Well, it is an ass worth saving,” Richie says with a wink. He turns back to the door and sees that the gunshot damaged the lock enough that when he shoves his weight up against it, it finally gives way. To his immense relief, the west entrance doors are on the other side of the room. Even more of a relief is the sight of Beverly, standing by the door with her shoes off, her hair a mess, and a gun in hand. 

“You two ready to get the hell out of here?” she asks.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Richie says. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Bev opens the doors and they can see Stan waiting in the car just a couple dozen feet away, on the other side of the ornate fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Behind them, Richie hears pounding boots on the floor and angry shouting. 

“Time to go!” he says, and the three of them take off running toward the car. Stan leans over to fling open the backseat door for them, and they all tumble in one after the other: Eddie, then Richie, then Bev, who pulls the car door shut just as Bowers and his men burst through the west doors and a hail of bullets hits the side of the car. The car’s back windshield spiderwebs with cracks as a bullet makes contact. Stan peels out of the driveway with a screech of rubber on asphalt, and then they’re speeding off and leaving the estate behind.

“All things considered, I think that went pretty well,” Richie says.

“I’d love it if just  _ one  _ time we could not get my car shot at,” Stan says. “Just once.” He glances in the rearview mirror. “Hi, Eddie. Long time no see.”

“Hey Stan,” Eddie says. He shifts a little where he’s squashed against the car window, and then lets out a soft grunt of discomfort.

“I can move to the front seat if you need more room, Eddie — oh my god, are you bleeding?” Bev says. 

Richie’s heart clenches and stutters in his chest. He turns to look at Eddie, who at first glance seems totally fine, if a bit disheveled — but then he sees the red staining the white material of his left shirtsleeve, and the smear of blood against the window. Eddie looks down at it, pulls slightly on his sleeve, and grimaces.

“Well fuck,” he says. 

“Did you get  _ shot?”  _ Richie asks, his voice jumping with alarm. He tugs at Eddie’s right shoulder, trying to move him away from the window and peer around his torso to get a better look at the injury. The buzz of leftover adrenaline and panic is making his hands shake.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I think it just grazed me,” he says. “I’m fine, really.” 

“We’ve got first aid at the hotel, we can patch you up,” Bev says.

“M’kay,” Eddie says. He slumps a little, leaning against Richie this time, and Richie’s panic spikes up another notch.

“Are you passing out? How much fucking blood have you lost?” Richie yelps.

“I’m just  _ tired,”  _ Eddie says irritably. “It’s the fucking — adrenaline wearing off. I’m  _ fine,  _ just let me close my eyes.” 

Richie looks over at Bev, making a worried face at her, and she just shakes her head. 

All things considered, it doesn’t take  _ that  _ long to arrive at their hotel, but it feels like a fucking eternity. Eddie shakes off Richie’s attempts to help him up the stairs, and the four of them pile into the cramped hotel room. Bev and Stan take the cross from Richie so they can dive into research, Richie and Bev’s research notes spread out on one of the beds. Eddie heads for the bathroom, mumbling for Richie to follow him.

Richie peels off his suit jacket and swaps his contacts out for his glasses, and then gets the first aid kit out of one of their bags scattered across the floor.

“Rich, do you guys need help?” Bev asks.

“Nah,” Richie says with false nonchalance. “I got it.” He ducks into the bathroom before she can give him any more knowing looks.

Eddie’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, stripped down to his white undershirt and slacks. Richie can see the wound now, and Eddie was right — it’s not a gunshot, but he got clipped pretty good by the bullet, and it’s a long, shallow cut across his left bicep. Richie lets out a low whistle, unzipping the first aid kit and pulling out antiseptic and gauze.

“Wash your hands,” Eddie says immediately, and Richie rolls his eyes, turning on the sink.

“Eds, baby, what do you take me for? I’m a pro at on-the-fly wound care,” he says. He scrubs his hands for the Kaspbrak-deemed appropriate amount of time, and then squats down next to Eddie to take a closer look at his arm. “Looks like it hurts,” he says sympathetically.

“It’s not too bad,” Eddie says, though he’s gritting his teeth. When Richie starts dabbing on the antiseptic, Eddie hisses and thumps his right fist down against his thigh. “Mother _ fucker.”  _

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie says quickly. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, letting out a harsh breath. He shoots Richie a wry smile. “Occupational hazard, right?”

Richie trains his eyes on the spot just above Eddie’s injury, where his T-shirt tan line begins on his lean, muscled arm. One of Richie’s hands is cradling Eddie’s elbow. “It’s not supposed to be  _ your  _ job, though.”

Eddie lets out an exasperated sigh, but doesn’t say anything as Richie finishes cleaning his wound and wrapping it in clean white bandages. When it’s done, Richie still can’t meet Eddie’s eyes. “This shouldn’t have happened to you,” he says.

“Well, it did, and it was my choice to get involved. I knew the risks.” 

“Okay, but — I mean, fuck, Eds, how long were you walking around with this?”

Eddie shrugs the shoulder of his uninjured arm. “Not long. Happened when you were trying to break down that door.”

Richie’s head jerks up and he stares at Eddie. “When you pushed me out of the way? Fuck, you shouldn’t have done that.”

Eddie scowls at him. “Why the fuck  _ wouldn’t  _ I have done it?!”

“You — he could have actually shot you! You could’ve been seriously hurt!”

“Yeah, same goes for you, asshole!” Eddie exclaims. “Jesus Christ, Rich, you think I was just gonna stand there and let that happen to someone I —” He stops abruptly, biting down on his bottom lip. 

“What?” Richie asks. He can hear his pulse rushing in his ears. “Someone you what, Eddie?”

“Someone I love, idiot,” Eddie snaps. “You knew that’s what I was going to say.”

Richie rocks back onto his heels. “I didn’t, actually. You’re the one who called things off.”

“I called things off  _ because  _ I love you,” Eddie says, like it should be obvious. “For fuck’s sake, Richie, I — you’re so smart but you’re so, so stupid.”

Richie has no idea how to have this conversation. “Eds, you lost a lot of blood, I think you should lie down…”

“No! I wanted to talk to you, and now I’m fucking talking,” Eddie says. He’s always had a way of commanding Richie’s attention,  _ insisting  _ on it. Richie always wanted to tell him that he never needed to try so hard — he’d captured Richie’s attention a long time ago. Even now he’s helpless to do anything but sit there on the bathroom floor and listen. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch you run off and do all this dangerous shit while I had to just sit around? How many times I’d let you go and then wonder if that was going to be the day I got a call from Bev or Stan to tell me that you —” Eddie’s voice cracks, his eyes flashing with unshed, furious tears. “I couldn’t take it anymore, Rich, it was killing me.”

“Eddie,” Richie says hoarsely, “I never should have put you in that position —”

“Nope,” Eddie says, cutting him off. “I’m not done yet, asshole. Listen to me, I don’t want to be out of your life, okay? I want — I want you to let me in. All the way in. I know you’ve just been trying to protect me, but I want to be able to protect you, too.”

“You can’t mean that,” Richie says, staring at him. “You deserve a normal fucking life, Eds, a — a fucking house in a cul-de-sac with a white picket fence and shit. I can’t give you that.”

“Who says I want any of that?” Eddie demands. “I don’t, I don’t want it. I want you. I  _ love  _ you, okay? Do you get that?”

Richie sniffles. “You took a bullet for me,” he says weakly.

Eddie smiles then, and it’s fucking radiant, even as tears trickle out of the corners of his eyes. “Technically, the door took the bullet. I’ll try harder next time, though.”

“That’s not funny,” Richie tells him, shifting up onto his knees so he can cradle Eddie’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.

“Guess I should leave the jokes to you,” Eddie murmurs, and then he tips forward and kisses him, his mouth soft and pliant and wanting. Eddie’s right hand comes up to cup the base of Richie’s skull, fingers threading into Richie’s hair and pulling it free from the product he’d put in it before the auction. Richie’s glasses go crooked as he tilts his head, slotting their mouths together better, and Eddie lets out something between a whimper and a sigh, his nose nudging into Richie’s cheek.

“I love you,” Richie whispers against his mouth. “I love you so fucking much, Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie says. He pulls away, just enough so they can look each other in the eyes. “Rich, ask me again.”

“Ask you what?” Richie says, still dazed and kiss-drunk.

Eddie smiles a fond, almost shy smile. “The thing you always ask me.”

It takes a second for Richie to connect the dots, but he does, and his eyes go wide. “Marry me?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, leaning in to kiss him again and again.

They stay that way until Richie’s knees start to ache from kneeling on the tile floor, and the back of his hair is completely fucked up from Eddie’s fingers. He knocks their foreheads together again, noses bumping, and Eddie huffs out a soft laugh.

“So what now?” he asks.

Richie snorts. “I have no idea. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“Me neither,” Eddie admits, grinning. “Let’s just wing it.”

“Would you accept freeballing it?” Richie asks.

“Maybe later,” Eddie says, shoving at his shoulder. “Get up before you break your kneecaps. We should get out of here before Bev and Stan think we’re hooking up in the bathroom.”

“Is that not what we’re doing?” Richie asks, getting to his feet with a wince. He holds out his hand to help Eddie up as well. 

“They don’t need to know that,” Eddie sniffs. Richie adores him.

When they exit the bathroom, Bev and Stan are sitting on one of the beds with the Saint Dismas cross and all their research notes spread out in between them, and their go-to historian friend, Mike, on a video call on Stan’s phone. All three of them are conspicuously silent when Richie and Eddie come back into the room, obviously eavesdropping only a moment ago.

“Hi guys,” Bev says innocently. “How’s your arm, Eddie?”

“It’s alright, thanks,” Eddie says, matching her tone. 

“You two have a good… talk, in there?” Stan asks, raising his eyebrows.

“A  _ great  _ talk,” Richie confirms. He and Eddie share a look, and Richie knows there’s no use trying to keep it a secret — they’ve both got love pouring out of their goddamn eyes, anyone can see it. “Eds is gonna be sticking around for this one,” he says, not breaking eye contact.

“Hopefully for a long time after that,” Eddie adds. 

“Good!” Bev says. “Hey, do you think Kay would be interested in treasure hunting…?”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Richie says quickly, wagging a finger at her. “The role of cute journalist has already been taken.”

“I’ll give you her number,” Eddie stage whispers to Bev. Richie gapes at him in mock betrayal.

“Guys!” Mike says over the video call, and they all snap their attention back to him. He’s laughing slightly. “Do you want to find this treasure or what?”

Richie and Eddie join Bev and Stan on the bed so they can hear Mike better, and Eddie leans easily against Richie’s side. It still makes him nervous, bringing Eddie along — putting Eddie in danger, and putting  _ himself  _ in danger by letting himself feel this much for a person. In his line of work, it often seems like it’d be so much easier not to get attached, but the truth is, Eddie’s right. Running from it doesn’t make the feelings go away. Whatever happens next, Richie’s glad to have Eddie by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> truly shoutout to you if u read this. i hope you liked it! pls leave me a comment if you so desire, i always love to hear what ppl think! and find me on twitter, as always, @hermanngottiieb


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